But it was entirely uneventful. I needed to see the humiliation. I needed to watch him live it.

With a brave breath, I stepped back into the bar. The place seemed rowdier than before. There was definitely something exciting happening and I had a feeling I knew exactly what that was.

Show time.

Smiling, I took the end seat by the bar again, expecting to find Troy the laughing stock of the night. The police to possibly be called, fining him for indecency, hell anything.

Instead, I found our half-naked hockey star with an ear-to-ear grin—making his way out of the crowd—where someone had just called out “you’re my hero”.

Spotting me instantly at the end of the bar, he sauntered over, high-fiving a few hands in the air as he passed them.

“Another round for my buddies, Finn,” Troy called as he slipped beside me, nudging me with his bare shoulder. “And whatever she’s having, too.”

I shut my eyes and muttered curses that fell on deaf ears. “Just perfect.” When I opened my eyes, Troy was gazing at me with a coy grin and winked.

The bartender walked back over to him handing him a pair of shorts with the bar logo on it. “Sorry to ruin your fun, but please put these on,” he asked with a roll of his eyes.

“Sure thing, Finn.” Troy clutched the shorts and a pint of beer, then leaned in to me and whispered. “You can keep ‘em.”

I. Wanted. To. Scream.

3. August

3

Troy should have been the one pounding on my door this morning with ibuprofen and coffee. But instead, I was here, searching for the hidden key under his mat.

Ryan called one too many times this morning asking if I’d checked on the MIA center hockey star, because it was only a matter of time before the team captain and coach started banging down his door.

I let myself into my brothers’ lofty apartment. The penthouse of the most recently constructed residential building in Brooklyn had an incredible view of downtown, with a wraparound terrace he shared with the penthouse next door to admire it. Troy’s decor was minimal and modern with black leather couches that faced each other, an oversized marble coffee table and cowhide rugs which I always considered hideous and impractical.

It was always bright up here. Too bright. Troy didn’t have roller shades for his windows, and I was willing to bet he was regretting the decision to let them go bare right about now.

I, on the other hand, lived in my practical apartment one flight of stairs below the penthouse. Like many things in life, Troy followed my footsteps, but of course, had to stay one step ahead.